


we are born to be alone ( so why are we still looking for love in the worst of places? )

by umenotes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eye Trauma, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, no beta we die like Glenn, too many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umenotes/pseuds/umenotes
Summary: edelgard finally looks dimitri in the eye.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	we are born to be alone ( so why are we still looking for love in the worst of places? )

Her fingers trembled. 

“May I?” 

Dimitri can hardly recall where he is but her voice comes in and out of his consciousness. He can feel an ache somewhere in his stomach but he ignores it. In the depths of his mind, he’s running towards the voice but his body feels too heavy. Immobilized, in a way.

In reality, Edelgard waits with bated breath. 

Her hands are soaked in blood as she presses the cloth into his abdomen; trying to expunge the bleeding. She can see the pain ripple through his face each time her hand presses against the wound a little harder. Up close, her eyes map out his features; the sweat glimmering in the last moments of day, making his hair stick to the sides of his face. She moves to ask again, hand retreating from the wound, a breath of relief when blood does not trail after her this time. When he does not answer, Edelgard reaches out once more, this time to his face, fingertips edging the leather strap that clung to his face; hiding away the tortures of war from her sight. A part of him she never knew -- a part of him that she had forced out. After years of chasing after her, to see him at her mercy -- on the bridge of death, and yet, still alive is a relief she does not know how to explain. 

Fingertips trace the outskirts of where it clings to his face, attentive to a fault as she held her breath for an answer. Her knees sink further to the floor, the cold smothered by the fabric of her dress. 

She saw the muscle at his jaw tense, a blur of movement that has her drawing back at a moment’s notice only for his hand to suddenly fly out to stop her. His hands are much bigger than her own; but feel just like hers. Rough, calloused with blisters that had been torn and ripped apart at the palms for ages now. His fingers wrap around her wrist, tightened to halt her or break her -- Edelgard knows no difference. She does not flinch, the danger of this situation is clear but it is of her own doing. Edelgard understands this much, she weighs the risks and takes them anyways.

He doesn’t say much, nor does Edelgard really expect him to but he does nod, finally giving an answer to her question. 

The warmth disappears from her wrist and her hands return to his face; reaching behind him to undo the tie that held the eye covering up. Fingers get caught on his hair as she pulls back; made to push back dirty, blonde tresses so she could get a better look. Edelgard may have had her own imaginative theories of what lay behind the eye patch, but this was beyond them.

The sight startles her in an instant, but she does little to visibly react. Instead, her fingers do the work for her -- ask the questions she does not have the courage to. They run along his face, much gentler than she’s ever done before. They do not match the hardness in her eyes, nor the haze of hallucinations that cling to Dimitri’s, but they feel the roughness in his skin; where he has aged, where he had burned with blood on his tongue and her throat dreamt in his hands -- all these thoughts imagined in an eye she can no longer see. For where a beautiful cerulean iris had once lay was a gaping hole; flanked by red. It was repulsive, a wasteland of nothingness that should have had Edelgard drawing back. 

Instead, her eyes hold firm to his gaze. 

The moment she had unmasked his eye, the other had narrowed to gauge her reaction. As if to confirm the grotesqueness that awaited her. But he should have known better -- after all, this was Edelgard. She would not give him the satisfaction. Stoic, she stands, holding his stare determinedly. The sight that beholds him is one he least expects. 

However, that isn’t what scares him. 

He watches the tear trickle downwards.  _ No  _ \-- he feels his eye close, he wishes not to see. But then he feels.  _ Feels _ the soft press of lips against the shell of the eyelid that held the ghost of what he could not see and he startles. The blood rushes into his ears, the thundering of his heart deafens him. They sounded like a thousand men at battle, marching with their footsteps heavy, their roars so loud that reason and rhyme were lost to pride and bloodlust. It’s that same penchant that has his hand grab for hers and push her to the floor. A growl of frustration at the base of his throat, rumbling in his chest as he stares at her. “Why?!”

Still, she does not flinch. Not when the first tear falls, running down her cheek as they fall from his own. He stares down at her, the scatter of white behind her head as she reaches out to him. In a faraway dream, Dimitri thinks this is all he had ever wanted. But her smile is too out of place. 

There is no happiness in the way it curves, but regret as it crests as her fingers brush at his tears as she mouths her apologies. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her own tears come in tangent to his own; running down her face, mixing with the ones that continue to run their course against alabaster flesh. They fall and fall until his face collapses into the crook of her neck and he feels his chest heave heavily into hers. Her hands racked into his hair, her cries muffled by the crackle of his own. 

Even in the cold, space nonexistent between them, their cries echoed for the world to hear. 

**Author's Note:**

> I call this a moment in a dungeon but … I didn’t really like the way I wrote the dungeon out to be so I ripped it out so now this is just a mess of feelings with no proper ending or real plot because I suck as a storyteller. Can also be called, what if Dimitri doesn't die at the end of Crimson Flower. Undecided if I'll post a part two, we'll see.


End file.
